


To Love (And Not Let Go)

by innocent_until_proven_geeky



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I really only wrote this so I could use the beginning paragraphs, I'm not sure what this is, also this only took me like three months oof, anyway I hope you enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innocent_until_proven_geeky/pseuds/innocent_until_proven_geeky
Summary: Obi-Wan's concern for Satine's wellbeing comes to a head when nightmares wake him even sleeping peacefully in his quarters on Coruscant.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	To Love (And Not Let Go)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is except for fluff, but I hope you enjoy!

_Remember, my dear Obi-Wan: I loved you always. I always will._

Obi-Wan sat bolt upright in his bed, gasping for breath past the tears threatening to slip down his cheeks. On top of the fear and the sorrow of his recurring nightmare, he had to reorient himself; the war had him changing where he slept so often he was, for a moment, uncertain whether he had awoken because he was under fire or simply from the dream--vision?--that he couldn’t seem to stop having.

He was in his quarters at the Jedi Temple. The shelves around him were littered with old-fashioned flimsi books, more than a few datapads (he should really consolidate all their information while he was still on Coruscant), and the tchotchkes Qui-Gon had once collected and which he had kept after his master’s death. Ordinarily, they helped to calm him, thinking about the stories Qui-Gon had told him or the missions they had been on together; tonight, however, they brought him no comfort, only a painful reminder of being with his master when he first met the duchess who was subject of his many recent nightmares.

 _Satine_. She had returned to Mandalore nearly three standard months prior, and still Obi-Wan’s unconscious mind--and, he couldn’t deny, sometimes his conscious mind--was consumed by thoughts of her. It had taken him nearly fifteen years to quell the attachment they developed during his time defending her during the Mandalorian Civil War, and now it was back and, he thought, stronger than ever. He buried his face in his hands at the thought of her meeting her doom by this shadowy figure whom he never quite saw.

Should he tell her?

 _No._ He wanted, needed, for her to be safe. But if he told her, would the nightmares only get worse? Would she think he was trying to rekindle the flame they once had (against his better judgment)? Would the Council find out, and if they did, what would they think?

He had to tell _somebody_.

Anakin was out of the question. He and Ahsoka were on some mission somewhere, and Obi-Wan didn’t dare interrupt them. He would not be the distraction that led to their deaths.

Attachment again. He groaned within himself. Would he ever outgrow it?

And of course he couldn’t tell the Council. Most of them hadn’t been on a year-long mission with someone as… as _wonderful_ as Satine Kryze during such a formative time in their lives. They would never understand. He might even lose his place among them. Not that he cared about the status of being a High Council member, but it did allow him some freedoms that being another Master in the Temple never did, and it gave him some semblance of control over Anakin that he simply couldn’t have otherwise.

But Yoda, maybe? A single member of the Council--the Grandmaster?

Obi-Wan flung the covers off himself. It felt almost unnatural to sleep in nightclothes, under a set of warm blankets and sheets, after a year of war. He shook his head to remind himself that here, on Coruscant, he was safe, and went in search of the little green Jedi.

“Master Obi-Wan,” Yoda said without turning his head. “Expect you sooner I did. Troubled are you?”

Obi-Wan smiled at Yoda’s question. He was always good about letting the other Jedi know that he knew they were struggling while also allowing them to speak their minds when the time was right. “Yes, Master,” he answered, bowing slightly from the doorway even though Yoda couldn’t see him before stepping into the meditation room.

“Lost a planet again have you?” Yoda chuckled.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Not this time, Master Yoda.” He made his way to a cushion across from the old Grandmaster, so they could see each other and so he didn’t have to stand. He felt constantly weary from the months of travel, of fighting, of loss and of heartache. He found he enjoyed sitting much more now than he did as an initiate, or even as a padawan. As soon as he was settled, the mood turned somber. “I’ve been having a nightmare, Master. I’m worried it might be a vision.”

“Tell me about this nightmare, will you?”

This was the moment when he would learn whether Master Yoda could be nonjudgmental of his weaknesses as a Jedi. Obi-Wan took a deep breath before beginning. “I have a recurring dream in which I am on Mandalore, trying to help the Duchess Satine Kryze, and instead I am somehow, indirectly I hope, the cause of her death.”

“More detail to share have you?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, feeling awkward and entirely noncommittal. “She is killed by a weapon I’ve only seen once--the darksaber. She dies in my arms, and tonight when she died in the dream she told me….” He trailed off, anxious. If this wasn’t a vision, his subconscious was probably projecting, and if that were the case then Yoda would know exactly how he had felt about her for so long. But he couldn’t ignore any details that may be important. “She told me she loved me,” he finished lamely.

Yoda hummed in the way he did when he was thinking or when he had just asked an important question. Finally, he asked, “Meditated on this have you? Hm?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I did, but the dreams got worse. More vivid even when I didn’t seem to notice any new details. I started having them more often, too.”

“If worse the dreams became after meditating, a vision this may be. Try not to change the future; that is a path to the dark side. But warn the Duchess you must. Your friend she is?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. _Yes_. But she was so much more than a friend, their connection so much deeper after all they had endured together. Much like Qui-Gon had not only been his Master and friend but his father figure, someone he loved dearly and was afraid to lose, someone whose death shattered him into pieces he could never quite fit back together, Satine was not only his friend and former assignment. She wasn’t a sister to him, either, though. She was the love of his life, and he could hardly bear the thought of being truly without her. But he couldn’t say all this out loud to Master Yoda. His reaction to Qui-Gon’s death a decade ago had been cause enough for scrutiny from the Council. So, after a few moments, he simply said, “Yes, Master. She is my friend.”

“Warn her,” Yoda repeated.

The younger master stood and bowed, then left the room swiftly, hoping his emotions--relief, fear, elation, dread--would not show before he was out of Yoda’s presence. Unfortunately, he was stopped by the Grandmaster’s voice just as he reached the doorway.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, something gentle in his tone that had not been there before, “know you must that attachment is inevitable. The mark of a good Jedi it is to experience attachment and still to let go.”

Obi-Wan thought about this for a long moment, then murmured, “Thank you, Master.” But as he made his way through the long corridors of the Jedi Temple, there was a spring in his step that had not been there before.

Back in his quarters, Obi-Wan decided he would not wait to deliver his warning to his beloved Duchess if he didn’t have to. Figuring out what time it is somewhere else on the same planet is hard enough, but figuring out what time it is in a particular place on a different planet with a different rotation speed is another thing entirely. _Thank the Force for modern technology_ , Obi-Wan thought as he searched one of his too-many datapads for the time at the palace in Sundari. He was relieved to find it was around morning meal, or what he assumed should be morning meal. Without much more thought, he used his comm to reach out to Satine.

It took several long seconds before her hologram appeared before him, wearing a stern expression and a simple dress.

“Is it common practice for Jedi to contact the leaders of neutral systems while they should be eating?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

But Obi-Wan could not help the relief he felt at seeing her alive and well. Her face, her voice, her attitude were all there in front of him. He had to fight back the laugh that bubbled up in his chest, a stark contrast from the tears he had been blinking away only an hour before. “I apologize, Duchess,” he told her after clearing his throat. “I thought it best that I should speak with you as soon as possible.”

She gave a visible start at his formality, an indication that she was alone and knew that he was too. She returned it nonetheless. “What is it, Master Kenobi?”

He hesitated, suddenly the nervous boy on Mandalore again. How could he explain any of this? He bypassed explanation and went straight to wondering, “Would it be imprudent if I should come visit with you?”

Satine’s face softened. Though they hadn’t spoken between his leaving Mandalore fifteen years ago and his returning again only a few months past, she could still read him so easily. She knew what went unsaid. Still, duty and protocol were necessary. “On Republic business?” Her voice turned suddenly cold, though Obi-Wan suspected it was a front. “On army business?”

“On Jedi business, Duchess,” he replied quickly, biting back the “personal business” he almost spilled out.

She thought about this for a long moment, seeing his anxiety for what it was--if she wasn’t mistaken, he was pacing in his quarters, one hand behind his back. If he weren’t holding up the holo, he would probably have the other hand wrapped around his beard. To most, only the pacing would be a sign of his nervous energy, although with Obi-Wan it could just as easily be a sign of any strong emotion, especially excitement or joviality and, only slightly more occasionally, mischief. Satine, however, knew better.

When he raised his eyebrow impatiently, she finally nodded. “We would be honored to have you here on Mandalore, Master Jedi.” She noted the evident relief. His left shoulder relaxed as if his arm was again at his side, and he lowered the holo slightly and sat down on something. He had relaxed. “I will expect you here in one standard week. That is about how long it takes to get from Coruscant to Mandalore, is it not?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “One week,” he agreed.

Satine let her guard down for just a moment before ending the transmission. “I look forward to seeing you, Obi,” she said, allowing a smile to flicker across her face.

Obi-Wan smiled back even as her holo disappeared. He still wasn’t sure how he would explain this, but now he had a week to figure it out.

Sleep seemed to come easier to him after speaking with the Duchess than it had in three long months.

Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore, stood waiting impatiently on a landing platform outside the palace in Sundari. Her skin rose in goosebumps at a chilly morning breeze, and she wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been beside himself with worry when they spoke one week ago. She had resolved that he would not worry about her a moment longer than he had to; thus, she stood on the platform for well over an hour.

When a ship finally came into view, the security detail waiting with the Duchess was overly cautious, in her opinion, about allowing it to land. Although the people in the control terminal had confirmed that this was indeed Obi-Wan, the security detail flanked the ship as it lighted down on the platform and one man scanned the Jedi as he descended the ramp.

“You really don’t have to do that every time I wait on the platform,” Satine insisted to the captain of her guard.

The man simply shrugged. “It comforts them, Your Highness.”

Satine turned back to the ramp as Obi-Wan reached the platform, and both their faces lit up at the same time. Aside from this, though, in front of her guard she maintained a regal disposition. “Master Jedi,” she greeted, bowing her head. She studied him closely; rather than the tunic, vambraces, and gloves she had seen on him most recently, he now wore a tunic, tabard, and cloak, similar in every way to the ones he had worn when they first met, and his hands were bare.

“Duchess.” Obi-Wan bowed fully at the waist and held the position for longer than was probably necessary before returning to standing. Satine suspected he may have been trying to control his own expression.

“Let us go inside. No need to stand out in the cold now that we know you are who you say you are.” She allowed some of her amusement to show in her polite smile, then turned and led the small procession into the warm confines of the palace walls.

Once inside, the guards dispersed; it was one of her requirements of them, that if they would be with her every moment she was outside and in every public room of the palace then she would have her privacy at any other possible time. As soon as the guards were gone, both Obi-Wan and Satine were able to let their guards down.

Satine slipped her arm into his, resting one hand over the other. To any outsider, it was just the way a gentleman should escort a lady through the palace, but for her it was a way to keep him close for as long as possible. “What is it, Obi-Wan? Why have you come?”

“I’m worried about you, Duchess.” He settled his own free hand over hers, comfortable as though this were something he did regularly, and leaned just a little closer to her.

“I thought as much.” Satine’s laugh was light. “But why? All is well here on Mandalore; Death Watch has done nothing to cause worry since our little adventure when you last visited. I’m sure they are biding their time,” she added, her voice turning harder, “but for now there is no reason to worry. I will not be the one to launch a full-scale attack on Death Watch.”

Obi-Wan nodded his assent. “I know. Violence is not your way. It never has been, least of all since I returned to Coruscant years ago.”

Satine tried to hide the surprise she felt. There was a part of her that expected him to rise to the bait, to tell her to strike while her opposition was weak--not exactly what she expected from him as a Jedi, but as a general. There was none of the usual willingness to argue or debate, none of the usual banter she associated so strongly with this wonderful Jedi who had somehow become her closest friend. “Are you okay, Obi-Wan?”

He stopped and pulled her toward the wall with him. He looked up and down the hall, then again, before finally speaking. “I’ve been having dreams, Duchess.”

“Dreams?” Satine knew some things about Jedi; she knew that Obi-Wan even occasionally had visions.

Still, she wasn’t sure she understood exactly what he meant until he said, “Visions, I think. They have become a concern for me. I had to make sure you were safe.”

“I am safe,” she assured him, gesturing around them. The halls were deserted, except for a palace guard near the door into the library. The lack of hustle and bustle, she hoped, would convince him that all was well and not that she was underprotected. “But tell me, Obi-Wan, what are these dreams or visions about?” She didn’t want him to think that she was trying to downplay his fears.

He sighed, and she saw his anxiety as plainly as she had when they were younger. Then, he launched into an explanation even more detailed than what he gave Yoda, if that were possible. He told her of being called to Mandalore, of being held back by the shadowy figure whom he had not yet been able to identify as she was cut through with the darksaber. After a meager hesitation, he told her of watching her die; he withheld that he held her in his arms, and he was too anxious to presume that he altogether avoided the last words she said in the dream. Still, they echoed in his ears, reinforced by hearing her voice clearly again: _I loved you always. I always will_.

She took a minute or more to process this small but significant confession. Finally, in a moment of agitation, she reached out and caressed his brow. He leaned into her touch when her hand rested on his cheek. “Oh, my dear Obi-Wan,” she murmured. “I am safe.”

He surprised himself when he nearly choked on his next words. “But what if you’re not, Satine?”

The Duchess shook her head and tried to smile reassuringly. “Pre Vizsla is in possession of the darksaber. Although he and I have quite the disagreement over how Mandalore is currently ruled, I doubt he would try to kill me.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. It was, after all, the old Mandalorian way to kill for power. At least, in a nutshell. He would never reduce the system’s history in such a brash manner out loud, though.

“One of his fellow members of Death Watch is my sister,” she explained quietly, a sadness in her tone that had not been there before. “He wouldn’t risk losing her allegiance like that.”

After that, they moved on, continuing to make their way throughout the palace; this time, though, they were as close as they could get to each other. She gave him a sort of tour, and he was surprised to find that he remembered nearly everything from the same tour she had given him fifteen years earlier.

They reached the kitchens at around the time they should be having second meal. Obi-Wan’s stomach growled loudly at exactly that moment, and Satine stifled a laugh. “Have you eaten yet today?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, embarrassed. “I had to control the jump out of hyperspace and initiate the landing sequence almost as soon as I woke up,” he admitted.

“Come then.” She pulled him into the dining hall, a smaller room than he was originally expecting. There must be a separate banquet hall for special occasions. “I actually had a jogan fruit cake prepared in addition to the rest of our meal.”

“Not uj cake?” Obi-Wan asked, teasing. The sticky sweet cake was a delicacy from Mandalore, but he knew that Satine actually detested the dessert.

“ _Nu draar_!” Satine replied in Mando’a, her eyebrows coming down. “ _Draar uj’alayi_. You know that, Obi!”

Obi-Wan almost laughed despite the anxiety still boiling in his gut; Satine rarely spoke to him in Mando’a, even though she had taught it to him in their year together on the run. She only used her native tongue with him for emphasis, which added to his amusement--on its own, “ _nu draar_ ” was emphatic enough. Coming from the Duchess and directed at him, it was comical. She _hated_ that cake. “Ah,” he said, his voice lilting, “I must have forgotten.”

She punched him playfully in the arm. “No, you didn’t.” Satine walked past him and sat down at the head of the table, hiding a smile.

Obi-Wan shook his head and followed after her, taking a seat around the corner to her left. And he fought the urge to reach out and take her hand in his.

It was getting dark. Obi-Wan had gotten permission from Yoda and Satine to stay for at least a week, to ensure that all was as well as the Duchess insisted it was. He swore to himself that it was part of his duty as a Jedi, but he knew deep down that it was to be close to Satine like he once was, simply _there_ with her.

Well, that wasn’t exactly how their year on Mandalore had gone. After all, they had been on the run.

Obi-Wan sat in the palace courtyard, a beautiful garden with flowers of all colors. The flora was native to all planets that the Mandalorians had claimed and many planets in the diaspora. The display was stunning, even to a Jedi who spent much of his time on Coruscant in Temple rooms planted with greenery from thousands of systems. When he reached out with the Force, he could feel the life energy of even the tiniest flowers. This place relaxed him nearly as much as his personal quarters in the Temple.

A door opened behind him, and he reached out in that direction to check if this was a friend or foe. He smiled serenely when he detected Satine’s signature in the Force; it had always been soft, warm, and reassuring to him, and was even more so now. Who knew that spending just a day uninterrupted with the person you loved could generate this kind of peace?

“Obi?” Satine said softly into the dimness of the twilit courtyard.

“I’m here,” he replied, finally opening his eyes and standing to greet her. His breath caught when he saw the Duchess; she was holding an old-fashioned lantern, the flickering light of which illuminated her face and hid the rest of her in shadow. It cast into stark contrast the places where her skin was smooth and where it was already lined with both stress and countless smiles. His eyes scanned the long, thin nose and sharp chin he had memorized once long ago before he looked into her brilliant blue eyes, shining with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. _She truly is beautiful_ , he thought, _and that isn’t even the half of it_.

“It’s late,” Satine said, bringing him out of his reverie. “You should rest.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head. “Yes, of course.” There was a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he added, “As should you, Highness.”

“I certainly hope you don’t presume to tell me what to do.” But she smiled and reached out with her free hand, allowing Obi-Wan to take it. She led him through the darkened halls to the guest suite which had been prepared for him. “Rest well, my dear.”

He bowed and pulled her hand to his lips. “Good night, Duchess.” He turned into the suite and closed the door softly behind him.

No dreams stirred his unconsciousness for the remainder of the night, only the gentle, floating words: _I loved you always. I always will_. And although he worried they would be her dying words, they brought only peace to him now; she was here, and she was safe, and he would return her love always.


End file.
